Pterion
I rose and made it halfway to the sink before, my mind so shot through with holes, I fainted and smacked off the countertop. My girlfriend screamed. I heard the scream before losing consciousness which was strange, a sharp-trauma’ed mind taking that long to fade, like an old screen, with the dot in the middle, rather than snapping off, like a light. I awoke, blood pouring between my forehead and temple. We don’t have a good name for that spot — a colloquial name, I mean; a doctor would say pterion but it’d be annoying if we did that. Our landlord had installed white plastic flooring. Luck. Everything wiped up. I suppose blood would wipe off a hardwood floor more easily (I’m comparing to grout and tile but who wants to cook on cold tile?).
I’d never had stitches. My girlfriend said the stitches looked like a giraffe neck, or the way Alfred Hitchcock would step into himself. (What do we call a grouping of stitches?) Not sutures — separate groups — islands — sutri? That’s what my girlfriend answered. She used an ominous tone when I put that to her. I know it isn’t okay to answer parenthetical questions outside the parenthesis but this question moved me so much as we exited the hospital that here I felt justified. Now she wanted to finish our argument. So if I just rest my head against the seatbelt dispenser (why are these always uncomfortable?) and stare into space….
The next morning she’d evaded the magic sleep uses to dampen our hangups. I walked around the apartment dripping wet after my shower and she followed with paper towels under her feet. I made a point to say I thought this was a great idea — hers, mind you — to save water on cleaning and I didn’t mention she looked like a penguin. But after that she eyed me like a tiger. It became clear, by her enormous eye movements, that the bandage on my pterion was saving me. “I am a human being. I need feedback,” was what she said as I went out to the subway. I don’t remember what I said in return, it was frictionless; everything hurt, and this time I am being poetic: everything.
